


When They Came Back to Idaho

by another_revolution



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s07e15 Repo Man, Gen, Police, people who notice the winchesters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 19:14:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/another_revolution/pseuds/another_revolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean Winchester killed a Demon in Idaho, 2008. Now it's 2012 and it seems like the Demon is out of hell, and killing more women. The Winchesters head back to try and send the Demon downstairs. Again.</p>
<p>They never thought they would be recognized.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Idaho, 2008. The lakeside city of Coeur d’Alene is plagued by a number of murders. Police have reason to believe the women’s deaths are linked, and are currently treating this as a serial killer._

_I was 17 years old, in my last year at Lake City High School. Dad was a cop then, and though he didn’t talk about it, I knew that case took its toll on him. No matter how hard I tried, he wouldn’t tell me anything about the killer. Said I was too young. Boy, did that piss me off. I remember I did pick up some facts from the evening news, though. The victims were young women, and they all had their little fingers cut off. The other details were confidential._

_So when the next body turned up, I hid outside Dad’s office door and listened in on the police radio. Then I went to the crime scene._

_I was naïve, I guess. I had imagined having to avoid a couple of cops, then catching a glimpse of the crime scene and sneaking off before her dad realized I was even there. Like in the movies. I left my bike two blocks away and walked to the address. As I got closer, I started to realize that there was no way I was going to get close. But I had a backup plan. I ducked into a coffee shop and ordered a cappuccino with two sugars. I hate sweet coffee, but this wasn’t for me._

_Five minutes later I jogged up to the crime scene, coffee in hand, and nodded to a couple of officers I knew, gesturing with the cardboard cup towards the yellow tape around the parking lot where they found her. They waved me through. I brought coffee to my Dad a lot while he was working._

_I slowed my steps as I approached Dad. He was talking to two men in suits. One was really tall, with dark brown hair that flopped into his eyes, the other was slightly shorter, with lighter hair that was short and tousled. They flashed their badges, speaking in low voices. I groaned inwardly. Feds._

_With a bright smile, I handed Dad the coffee and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, honey.” A tired smile and a sigh. “Tory, these are agents Bonham and Watts, FBI. Gentlemen, this is my daughter, Tory.” I nodded towards them, and remember thinking they were pretty hot. But something felt off. Well, something aside from the fact that they needed better suits. Bonham and Watts, dad said. Bonham? Where had I heard that before? They nodded and smiled, the tall one said hi, then Dad made me leave._

_When I handed over the coffee, any valid reasons for me to stick around were handed over with it. I tried to stay, but I basically got kicked out of the crime scene, told to go straight home, or I would be grounded for a fortnight. The shorter fed laughed. It was embarrassing. I didn’t go home, of course. I waited across the road._

_I remember the two feds getting into a black Chevrolet Impala, must have been a 64 or a 67. It was something else that didn’t match their badges. God, that car was sexy._

_I didn’t realize where I knew the name Bonham from until I got home and turned on some music. Bonham. John Bohnam. Led Zeppelin drummer. I may have been young, but I wasn’t stupid. Hot young feds with an awesome car, cheap suits, and names of musicians? I mentioned my suspicions to dad, but he told me to drop it. Didn’t want me to get in some sort of legal mess by offending the FBI before I was even a legal adult._

_After that day there were no more bodies fitting the serial killer’s M.O. of missing little fingers. The case was declared cold, the murderer presumed dead._

_I never saw the two feds again._

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

February, 2012. My name is Tory Sutton. I’m 21 years old, 5”6, with short black hair and blue eyes. I graduated college last year. And I don’t mean to brag, (actually that’s a lie, I’ve totally got bragging rights) but Dad bought me the best graduation present ever. My baby; the little red Ford Mustang convertible.

I’m back in Coeur d’Alene now to join the workforce. Yeah, I know, right? Don’t get too excited. Growing up sucks. My dad, now  _Detective_  Sutton, wants me to go into some line of police work, but I think he secretly knows that will never happen. English Lit graduates don’t become cops. I did Lit because it was there, but I think I want to be a crime writer or maybe investigative journalist one day. For now, a blog and a little column in the local paper will have to do. Gotta start somewhere, I guess.

I’m back in Coeur d’Alene, and I’ve just heard that, apparently, so is the serial killer of ’08. I’m trying to ignore the ‘My Bloody Valentine’ theme going on here. Just so you know, I’m not the murderer. I have no idea who it is.

I haven’t forgotten the few minutes I got on the last crime scene. The cops milling around, trying to look busy for the cameras and reporters, but really having no idea what to do or where to go next. They were in way over their heads, and they knew it. The killer was good, never leaving anything behind that might incriminate him or her. Okay, I’m just gonna call the killer a him to keep things simple. Ha, simple. I always thought that serial killers would be easier to nail than a one-off homicide, but I’ve been wrong before. The only difference I can spot is how much more terrified people are. And this one’s not just a serial killer. It’s a serial killer that was basically declared dead four years ago suddenly coming back from the grave to kill again.

Wait, that sounds like a bad intro for a zombie movie. Except this guy doesn’t eat brains, he eats other internal organs. Okay, so maybe he doesn’t  _eat_ them, but they’re always missing from the vics. Organs and left pinkie fingers of Caucasian women. Awesome. No wonder most of the public are shitting themselves over this one.

Yeah, yeah, no one’s really supposed to know. Confidential. So, of course, it’s all over the news. Kudos to those bitchy reporters who stop at nothing to improve the tv ratings.

I know dad was stressed out over these murders last time. I hate to think what it’ll do to him this time round. I think he blames himself every time a new body shows up, because they didn’t catch him. I mean, it could be a copycat –a really, really good copycat- but as far as I know, no one in Idaho is really entertaining that theory.

I reckon the cops want it to be the same guy, so that they can put him (or her, of course) behind bars.

So here I am, back in the city I grew up in. Not living with my dad, thank god. I have a shitty apartment all to myself. It’s great. But dad still called me when they found the most recent body. After all these years, especially being Detective now… he kind of takes the case personally. That’s why I wasn’t surprised when he told me where the crime scene was.

I know what you’re going to ask. Of course I went. And I picked up a coffee on the way.

When I pull up a couple of blocks from Henley’s auto-wash, the tape is already up. And there’s a black Chevrolet Impala parked on the curb.

I practically towards the crime scene. I doubt the officers will stop me. It’s all about who you know. And as it turns out, I know more than just the cops on this scene. It’s an almost-perfect flashback.

There, talking to dad. The tall one with the long hair, even longer now. The shorter one with lighter, tousled hair, still cut short. Notebooks and cheap suits. The coffee cup burning my fingertips. I should go over, but instead I stand back and watch. If I thought something was off last time, it was nothing compared to this. Last time was only four years ago, but these two men looked so much older. I don’t mean like  _old,_ they’re still hot, but I don’t know. Looks like they’ve been through some serious shit, seen too much. They look tired. And the tall one keeps glancing at the coroner’s vehicle, but I can’t see what he’s looking at. Weird.

They walk over to the body and talk for a bit. Can’t make out words from back here, but dad walks off to talk to someone else. Then… did the tall guy just smell the window of the smashed car? That’s it, that’s one too many weird things for me. I run across the street to the crime scene.

They’re already leaving. I walk up to them, but they walk right past me, frowning and muttering in low voices, something about “Havelock” and “Wiccan” and “Demon”.

They get into their sleek black Impala. I make it to my Mustang just in time to see them pull out. I drum my fingers against the wheel. What if they really are feds and I’m making all this up? But why were they talking about demons? I take a deep breath. What the hell. I know I would regret it later if I never tried to find out about them.

So yeah, I kinda tailed them.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is on hold while I finish another fic, but I'm looking forward to writing more of it soon.


End file.
